The Road
by BloggerOnBakerStreet
Summary: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are travelling by car to Scotland for a case. Sherlock proves to be a rather difficult passenger...
1. Chapter 1

John stared out of the car window and sighed, the countryside flickering past in varying degrees of green. It really was beautiful here. He and his best friend Sherlock Holmes were travelling to Scotland for a case. All the way from London.

John remembered the conversation they'd had with Lestrade, who'd tried to persuade Sherlock to take the case.

'Come on, you'll enjoy it! And it's in Scotland, so you'll be having a bit of a holiday, too!'

'No,' replied Sherlock curtly. 'I've got far more interesting things to do.'

'Would you just _look_ at this for a minute?' Lestrade shoved a file at Sherlock, who was turning away. 'They specifically asked for you on this one.'

Reluctantly, Sherlock took the file and opened it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he began to read, concentrating hard. John could almost hear his friend's brain whizzing as his eyes flew down the page.

'What's the case, Lestrade?' asked John curiously. He moved closer to Sherlock so that he could read the file.

'Murder. The poor girl was only twenty three.' Lestrade looked at Sherlock expectantly. 'Will you do it?'

Sherlock closed the file with a snap, his eyes closed for a moment. Then they flew open. John knew that he'd had an idea of some sort. He'd ask him about it later.

'Why not?' Sherlock shrugged, and began to walk towards the door. 'John,' he called over his shoulder, 'We're going to Scotland.'

Now John was on his way. He'd actually been there a couple of times before, when he was a medical student. He had highly doubted that Sherlock had ever been there – he seemed to have lived in London all his life – so John was quite surprised when he offered to drive.

'Don't you want to get the train?' he had asked.

'People,' scoffed Sherlock. 'Too many people, all obsessed with their own miserable lives. So much stupidity all on one train – you'd think it'd explode.'

'Yeah, you're going to be great company, aren't you?' replied John sarcastically.

Sherlock now sat in the driver's seat of the army-style Jeep, his eyes fixated on the long road ahead, except for a few quick sideways glances at John.

He cleared his throat. 'Nice scenery.'

'Hmm…'

Great. Now John had gotten annoyed with him again. Maybe it was something he'd said. Sherlock tried again.

'The weather's good today, isn't it?'

'Yeah…'

This was surreal, he marvelled. Him. Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. Attempting to small talk. Huh.

'John?'

'Yes?' John had now turned to face him.

'Are you okay?'

'Fine, fine,' replied John airily, with a wave of his hand. 'Everything's fine.' He paused for a moment. 'There is one _tiny_ little thing, though.'

'What?'

'If you could just stop with the whole road rage thing, that'd be great!' He could sense the annoyance in John's voice.

'Road rage?' Sherlock smiled slightly. He'd always liked it when John said things like that. Odd words, phrases.

'Yes, road rage! You know, the thing you did, not five minutes ago! Sticking your head out the window and shouting at the other drivers that they have the lowest IQ you've ever seen!' He turned to Sherlock. 'Don't you think that makes people the _tiniest _bit annoyed?'

'But they _are _stupid, they _are_-'

'Yeah, maybe, Sherlock, but did you have to drive past them like a maniac as well? It's not Formula One, you know.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Formula One?'

John sighed. It was going to be a long journey.


	2. Chapter 2

They had been travelling for a couple of hours now. John wound down the car window and a gentle breeze blew on his face, through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, peaceful and content. Then he looked across at Sherlock, smiling.

'Nice here, isn't it?' he said happily.

'Bored.'

John sighed slightly. 'Okay, well, we could stop at the next service station for a bit.' He looked around for a road sign.

'The next one's twenty miles away,' said Sherlock.

John cast his mind around for something to do. 'I s'pose we could play I-Spy.' He had fond memories of playing the game with his mum, dad and Harry on long car journeys in the summer.

'_Really_, John?' said Sherlock in a condescending tone.

'Well, you suggest something better to do then!' John said, folding his arms.

Sherlock simply concentrated on the road ahead.

'_Exactly_,' said John.

'Oh alright, just one game though, okay?'

'Fine.' John paused. 'I spy with my little eye-'

'Oh please,' scoffed Sherlock.

'Shut up!' snapped John, then he continued. 'Something beginning with... S.'

The words were barely out of his mouth before: 'Sign. Road sign.'

'Oh for God's sake,' said John, exasperated. 'How on earth-?'

Sherlock snorted. 'Well, it was hardly going to be something complex. I saw you looking out of the window. It couldn't have been 'sky', you weren't looking high enough. It was really rather obvious. What else could it possibly be?'

'Alright, alright, I get it.'

John waited for him to speak again, but Sherlock seemed to be in his own world. Probably his 'mind palace' again, thought John.

'Sherlock?'

'Hmm?'

'It's your turn.'

Sherlock tutted. 'Are we still playing this silly game?'

'You said one game, you _did_ say-'

'Okay, fine.' He paused. 'I spy...' And he made a face. 'Something beginning with W.'

W? What on earth could Sherlock see that started with W, thought John.

'Um... weather?' John suggested. Sherlock chuckled. 'Window? Wheel... wallet... walker?' John pointed to a tiny dot on one of the steep hills they were passing. 'Come on, give me a clue.'

'That would be cheating.'

'Well then, I can't think of any other words beginning with W.'

'Your extensive vocabulary never ceases to amaze me.'

'Just tell me what it is,' John demanded.

'Watch,' said Sherlock simply.

'Watch?' repeated John.

'On your wrist. It's reflecting the sun onto the dashboard, not exactly hard to miss. I'm surprised you didn't notice,' said Sherlock briskly. 'You know, this game is quite fun, actually.'

'Yeah, now that you're winning, eh?'

'Exactly, John.'

And so they continued with their game for the next hour, until:

'My turn, John. I spy... something beginning with B.'

'Is it Burger King?' asked John: after all, they were pulling in to a service station. 'That's easy.'

'Guess again.'

'No idea. What is it?'

'Bored.'


	3. Chapter 3

When John finally awoke, the first thing he noticed was the pale orange glow of daylight creeping through the car window. The next thing was that the car was completely empty. Sherlock had gone. Where the hell was he? He sat up and stretched. God, his neck ached. Why did he have to fall asleep?

John looked out of the window, squinting slightly in the light. He recognised the familiar skyline of the city of Edinburgh, remembering it from when he used to travel as a student. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. At the end of the street, John could see a tall figure, silhouetted against the sunrise. A second glance told him it was Sherlock, walking back to the car, the collar of his coat turned up. John's eyes followed Sherlock as he walked and, unlocking the door, Sherlock slid into the driver's seat.

'Morning.'

'Where've you been?'

Sherlock reached inside his coat and pulled out a map of the city.

'Went to buy one of these.' He looked straight ahead, frowning slightly. 'Don't know Edinburgh as well as London.'

John thought he could sense some shame in his friend's voice, and he smiled slightly.

'Oh.'

'Coming?'

'Yeah.'

They both left the car, snapping the doors shut. Sherlock locked the car, pointing the key over his shoulder. They walked down the street.

'So… where are we exactly?' asked John.

'Edinburgh.'

'Yeah, thanks, but I _had_ already gathered that,' replied John sarcastically. 'What I _meant_ was, _where_ in Edinburgh?'

'Couple of streets away from Waverley Station. There's a Starbucks on Princes Street. Thought you might want to get a coffee,' he added, somewhat shyly.

'Sounds good.'

After a minute, they turned down a road that sloped to the right. It opened out onto Waverley Bridge. John recognised it instantly: bus after bus was stationed on the left side of the road, while a number of cabs rushed by, the morning sun glinting off the windows. It felt odd, he thought, not to be taking a cab this time.

They passed a long queue of people waiting at the bus stop on the other side of the bridge. A bus was pulling in to the stop, and they had to dodge in and out of people filing onto the bus. Sherlock said nothing, but John could almost hear what he was dying to say. Stupid people. _Stupid people. _He chuckled slightly.

Sherlock frowned. 'What's funny?'

'Nothing, nothing. It was just… I thought of something.'

They carried on down the street, finally stopping at the traffic lights. As they crossed the road, John noticed that there was a large amount of scaffolding blocking the traffic. He pointed it out to Sherlock.

'I wonder what that's for?'

'Tram works.'

'Trams?'

'Oh yes, they're getting trams up here. Apparently it's a nightmare for the traffic.'

John smiled. It was funny that Sherlock knew more about the traffic system in another _country_, for God's sake, than basic stuff like the Solar System. But that was Sherlock, he thought. It didn't matter what he said, John could never convince Sherlock that things like that were important.

After a while, they had reached Starbucks. Sherlock pushed open the door and went inside, John following closely behind him.

'You getting anything?' he asked. He knew there was no point in asking, though: he could already guess the answer.

'No, you go ahead, I'll wait.'

Sherlock headed over to a table near the window. John stepped forward and joined the small queue of about three or four people at the counter.

Not for the first time, he wondered what the case was actually about. Yeah, he knew it was murder, but he had no idea about the actual details of the case. Sherlock had shut the damn file before he'd even had a proper chance to read it, and hadn't spoken a word about it since they were in Lestrade's office. He'd probably be doing The Face again when he got back to the table. Then he'd start insulting him, saying how 'spectacularly ignorant' he was. Alright. He decided to prove to Sherlock that he _could_ actually observe people, that he _wasn't_ stupid. He looked at the people in front of him, and chose to observe a man who was waiting for his coffee at the counter. Come on, he thought, how hard could it be? Sherlock did this thing for… well, no, not a living – he never wanted the money – but it was his job, anyway.

John focussed on the man in front. He tried to notice things, little things, about him. He knew he would never be able to compete with Sherlock's deductions, but he decided to give it a go anyway. He'd surprise him with a throwaway comment about the man, like Sherlock had done so many times: _'Oh, that man there's got a dog!'… 'He's in a terrible marriage, isn't he?'_

Alright, let's see, he thought. Okay, he's tall. John could hear Sherlock's voice in his head. _Oh, brilliant, John. Brilliant deduction. You should take over from me, we're always in need of a fresh perspective. _Shut _up_, John found himself saying. Out loud. The elderly woman in front of him glanced round quickly, alarmed, before scuttling a few steps forward, away from him.

For God's sake, John, try not to freak out the entire population, he thought. He smiled widely, and tried again. Right, he's got a wedding ring. Great. Now we're getting somewhere. The man was wearing a long black coat, just like Sherlock's, John noticed. Maybe he's a highly functioning sociopath, too. He laughed. The woman in front now openly turned round and stared at John. He simply smiled.

'Morning,' he nodded.

A couple of minutes later, he sat down at the window table, taking the seat opposite Sherlock, who was now pressing his fingers against his temples, his eyes shut tightly.

'Sherlock?'

'Hmm?' His eyes flew open.

'I'm back.'

'Of course.'

'Yeah... Listen, where are we going next?'

Sherlock looked at his watch. 'We need to visit someone first.'

'And who's that?'

'Our client.' He hesitated for a moment. 'By the way, there was a man in the queue…'

'Yeah?'

'I just… noticed you were staring at him rather a lot.' Sherlock inhaled sharply. 'Obviously, I might be wrong but-'

'Let me get this straight, okay, I am _not _gay!' John said heatedly. 'I was just… you know… observing.'

'Oh.'

'Trying to.'

'Oh.'

They sat for a moment, John sipping at his coffee, every so often shooting a dark look at Sherlock. Suddenly Sherlock sprang up, pulling on his coat.

'Come on, John.'

'Why? What is it?'

Sherlock wrenched open the café door and looked back dramatically.

'Because I think I've spotted our client.'


End file.
